


Before a Mirror

by kitestringer



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: First Kiss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-25
Updated: 2010-04-25
Packaged: 2017-10-09 03:45:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/82678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitestringer/pseuds/kitestringer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Albus Dumbledore's first kiss isn't quite what he'd been expecting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Before a Mirror

**Author's Note:**

> For the First Kiss meme a while back, [](http://pirl.livejournal.com/profile)[**pirl**](http://pirl.livejournal.com/) requested "Dumbledore/OFC. I want to hear about Albus' first kiss *ever*." However, an OMC hijacked him before he could get to the OFC, and this story is the result. *g* This was written before _Deathly Hallows_ came out, so there are no spoilers for that book at all. Thanks to [](http://rustler.livejournal.com/profile)[**rustler**](http://rustler.livejournal.com/) and [](http://kaynyne.livejournal.com/profile)[**kaynyne**](http://kaynyne.livejournal.com/) for beta reading and Britpicking, respectively, and to [](http://pirl.livejournal.com/profile)[**pirl**](http://pirl.livejournal.com/) for giving me such a fun story to write in the first place!
> 
> Originally posted in July of 2007.

_Prefects' Bathroom, Hogwarts Castle, 1856._

At the age of fifteen, Albus Dumbledore suffered from no shortage of romantic opportunities. In fact, if he had any problem at all in that regard, it was rather the opposite—there were more girls in love with him, or believing themselves to be in love with him, than he knew what to do with. In a lesser man, such attention might be enough to foster a certain degree of conceitedness.

Albus contemplated this possibility as he combed his hair to shining perfection, his reflection in the mirror looking back at him with equal parts amusement and admiration. Might he be in danger of becoming one of those insufferable young men people whisper about in half-disgust, half-envy behind their backs? 'I think not,' he murmured.

'Did you say something, Dumbledore?'

Albus frowned. Xerxes Thistlewhite. Seventh year, captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team and Head Boy and exactly the sort of young man Dumbledore had been thinking of. When he caught his frown in the mirror, Albus quickly turned it into an amiable grin. 'No,' he said, running the comb carefully through his hair once more. 'No, I didn't.'

'Ah, well, never mind. When you're an old man like me, your hearing simply is not what it used to be.' Xerxes came up close behind him, peering over his shoulder into the mirror. He brushed a few stray strands of his own windblown hair back into place with his fingers, and then his eyes shifted to Albus. 'Well, well. Aren't you a handsome specimen of young-man-hood,' he said with a smirk. 'And those robes are . . . entirely unique.'

'They are, aren't they?' Albus glanced down at the iridescent, dragonfly-blue fabric of his robes, which pleased him no less now than when he first bought them and complemented his eyes rather strikingly.

'They suit you very well,' Xerxes said, rubbing a bit of Albus's sleeve between two fingers. Albus noticed that Xerxes smelled of some sort of woodsy scent combined with clean sweat. Perhaps he'd just been out getting some exercise. 'I don't think I could imagine anyone but you wearing them.'

As was so often the case with Xerxes, it was a little difficult for Albus to tell whether he was being teased—not that he cared, particularly. He decided to change the subject. 'I'm spending the evening with Samantha Goyle. I've promised to give her some assistance with Transfiguration.'

'Goyle,' Xerxes said with ill-concealed distaste. 'Yes, well, I suppose the true subtleties of an art like Transfiguration would be beyond the grasp of most Slytherins, wouldn't it? Even exceptionally pretty ones . . .'

'She's very bright,' Albus retorted, irritated.

'And I'm sure that's why you're spending the evening with her.' Xerxes flashed a winning smile and patted Albus's shoulder. 'She is beautiful, I'll give you that. And anyone with eyes can see she fancies you.'

'Do you really think so?' Albus thought of Samantha's thick, raven hair, which led directly to thoughts of what it might feel like as it slid between his fingers. His face warmed.

'You know it to be true as well as anyone, but if you'd like to hear it said aloud once more, then yes.'

Xerxes really could be tiresome at times. Albus's irritation must have been apparent in his face, because Xerxes laughed a low and throaty laugh. 'Go on, Dumbledore. I know your sense of humour is better than that.'

'Perhaps you simply aren't very amusing,' Albus said lightly. He laid his comb down and set about tying his hair back so that he could clean his teeth.

'You wouldn't be the first to think so,' Xerxes said, and Albus could hear the smile in his voice. 'I tease you mercilessly, I know—but I always have only your best interests at heart, I swear it.'

'Very kind,' Albus mumbled around his toothbrush.

'And in that spirit,' Xerxes continued, 'I feel I must ask—after you've rendered your invaluable assistance with Transfiguration, what will you do with young Samantha then?'

'I'm sure I have no intention of sharing that with _you,_' Albus said after spitting into the wash basin as calmly as he could manage. He had intended haughtiness, but the question did give him pause. Until recently, the issue had been entirely theoretical. Naturally, he understood the _procedures_ involved, but it was rather like reading about the theory and wandwork behind a spell before casting it yourself; success, he feared, might lie more in the nuances than in the basic mechanics.

Still, Albus was accustomed to mastering most things rather quickly, if not instantly. How difficult could it be, after all, touching a girl's mouth with one's own? Again, Albus's face grew warm.

'You haven't kissed a girl before, have you?' For once, Xerxes did not sound as though he might be teasing him. He very nearly sounded kind. 'But you will tonight. I've seen it.'

'Ah.' Albus, as a general rule, put little stock in Divination; he had yet to see an accurate prediction that he could not have come up with on his own with the aid of only his (admittedly formidable) mental faculties and no help whatsoever from a crystal ball or tea leaves. Divination was, however, the particular gift of Xerxes and the entire Thistlewhite family, or so his devoted admirers fervently proclaimed. It was also unavoidably thrilling to hear this particular prediction put into so many words; Albus had no choice but to admit it to himself.

'Have you any idea what you're doing?'

'I think so,' Albus said drily, rinsing his toothbrush. 'People have been muddling along on their own for ages, haven't they, without the benefit of advice from Xerxes Thistlewhite?'

Xerxes laughed so sincerely in response that Albus found himself smiling as well. 'Yes, I expect they have. But when have you ever been content to merely muddle along, Dumbledore?'

Albus sighed. 'I'm in a bit of a hurry, so perhaps you could share the point you're trying to make? Do you _have_ advice for me?'

'I have something much better,' said Xerxes, his voice still sparkling with laughter. He was suddenly closer than he had been, so close that his chest just barely brushed Albus's arm. 'Why don't you let me show you.'

As Albus Dumbledore was, indeed, unusually intelligent and perceptive, it didn't take long for him to understand what it was Xerxes had in mind, and by the time Xerxes had insinuated himself between Albus and the mirror and Albus could look at nothing but him, at his green eyes flecked with brown and his hair falling artfully into his face and, most especially, his mouth, his arrogant mouth, curved into a faint, slightly lopsided smile, Albus knew he was about to be kissed. He also knew, from the frisson of excitement that took brief hold of him, as it always did when he was about to do something inadvisable out of sheer curiosity, that he would allow it.

'You see, Dumbledore,' Xerxes murmured, 'nearly every beginner makes the same sorts of mistakes, and you learn to avoid them only with practice. It's best to start off like this.'

Albus felt the thing to do was to close his eyes, and so the precise moment that Xerxes' lips touched his was a bit of a surprise, and came only after a short pause during which there was warm breath against his mouth and perhaps even a puff of silent laughter. But then it happened, a press of soft lips, all very slow and the touch so light that Albus found it natural to seek more, to take the liberty of leaning forward for it. It was then that Xerxes tilted his head and met his mouth more firmly, and a hand came to rest against the angle of Albus's jaw. With each movement that followed, Albus experienced a clarity of understanding of what had prompted it and what result it was meant to effect—and yet another, seldom-used part of his mind, one with which he was just recently becoming acquainted, knew only that it needed more, more of these kisses that grew progressively wilder, more of this bold handling, with Xerxes' hands roaming across his back, down his neck, thumb stroking his throat. Albus thought he could go on this way indefinitely, and he found himself quite unconcerned at the prospect that they might be discovered at any moment, for who were they—either of them—to care? They were hurting no one and breaking no rules, not really, and could do as they pleased. It was much as it would be if they were practising a rare spell; a surprise perhaps begging explanation, but nothing more.

It was Xerxes who first moved to disentangle himself; he gently pulled away, just enough to look into Albus's eyes once he'd opened them again.

'Interesting . . .' Albus said, his voice quiet and tremulous; his mouth tingled, and his legs had gone a bit wobbly beneath him. If Xerxes found any aspect of Albus's reaction amusing, he was charitable in not showing it. His expression was again kind, which seemed a bit out of place on that particular face, but Albus found he wasn't inclined to analyse its meaning just then. He let himself sway forward and breathe in the scent of him, which had once seemed so pleasant and was now very nearly intoxicating.

'So many of my visions are about you,' Xerxes said after a pause, in a voice so quiet Albus at first thought he might have misunderstood the words. 'Why do you suppose so many of my visions should be about you, Dumbledore?'

Although Xerxes had addressed him, Albus's impression was that the question was directed towards no one in particular. Xerxes cast his eyes downward and reached for Albus's hand, and took it gently in his own. He lifted it, turned it this way and that, inspecting it carefully. Then, as though he realised the strangeness of the behaviour, he looked up and smiled apologetically.

'Most of what I've seen I can't tell you, of course.' With this, Xerxes' smile became more his own, smugly superior. 'Ethical seers have rules about these sorts of things, you see. And to tell you some of what I know would make your head grow so huge it might no longer fit through most doors.'

'Indeed?' If Xerxes' aim with this nonsense was to flatter him into wanting to continue with what they were just doing, Albus thought he should show him that he needn't bother. He was already feeling rather enthusiastic about the prospect, and he tried to convey as much by leaning closer, his eyes fixed on Xerxes' mouth. Xerxes leaned in to meet him, but only just enough to brush his lips lightly against Albus's, sending a pleasurable shiver through his body, before pulling away.

'You'll be late,' Xerxes said with a grin. He reached back to untie Albus's hair and then ran his fingers through it briefly as it fell across his shoulders. 'Go forth now with a stout heart, old man, and meet your fate.'

Just then, the clock began to chime. Xerxes moved away, and Albus was once more faced with his own reflection, his slightly flushed cheeks and now slightly less-than-perfect hair. He reached for his comb and did what he could to impose order. He'd be late meeting Samantha, lovely Samantha, and for what? He cast a glance at Xerxes, who was arranging his own hair. He didn't look flushed at all.

'Do enjoy the charms, such as they are, of your Slytherin friend.' Xerxes said. He clapped Albus on the shoulder. 'May Godric Gryffindor forgive you.'

Albus snorted, setting the comb down firmly, perhaps too firmly, to conceal how he was trembling. He conjured an image of Samantha's face in his mind and was startled to find he now felt more nervous rather than less. Perhaps that had been Xerxes' intention all along.

'I expect I'll be in the Common Room when you return,' Xerxes said with a wink. 'If you require further . . . instruction, I'm only too happy to be of service.' With that, Xerxes, in his expensive robes and bold self-assurance, gave Albus a brief, mocking bow and then turned and swept from the room.

Albus turned to the mirror one last time. 'No,' he said. He cleared his throat, made his voice firm. 'No. I'll never be like that.' But, he thought, touching his lips lightly with the tips of his fingers, a man of Albus's intelligence and humility was certainly big enough to admit that he might have something more to learn from him.


End file.
